


A Marked Connection

by peachpeach



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cullen Rutherford as the Herald AU, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Rylen is Commander AU, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-07-17 15:41:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16098698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachpeach/pseuds/peachpeach
Summary: The events of the Conclave have lasting effects. When a Dalish elf finds herself alone in the Fade after the explosion, she nearly gives up hope. But then she hears it: a voice in the green mist. Herald of Andraste Cullen Rutherford is her only link to the physical world and he may also be her only hope at getting out alive.Now all she needs to do is convince the former templar that she is no demon to be feared... which, as it turns out, is much harder than she bargained for. In order to find a way to escape, she must get through to him before his actions condemn her to a life - or death - in the Fade.





	1. First Meeting

She hungered for color. What she wouldn’t give for soft pastel pinks, the color of sugary spring clouds as a sunset melted them away or the sharp, clean blues of foamy ocean waves on a hot summer day. She needed  _ anything _ but the neverending green, the endless gray, the occasional indulgent flash of white.

If she closed her eyes, she could remember colors. She could feel the sun on her skin, the warm water on her bare feet, the soft fur of a halla beneath her fingertips. 

Sometimes she could even remember people, but never their names or their faces, only smiles, laughter, and dampened words she couldn’t  _ quite _ make out. She remembered history, too - that was what came back to her most easily: Shartan, Lindiranae, Rajmael, Garahel. The amount of in-depth knowledge she possessed about those long-dead elves was startling. 

It seemed unfair, because she didn’t remember anything about  _ herself _ . She couldn’t remember her favorite color. She couldn’t remember her name. She couldn’t remember  _ where  _ she had been or  _ why  _ she was here now. Anything important was just…  _ gone. _ Sometimes something would stir in her mind and the hair on the back of her neck would rise and she would reach for a memory and be rewarded with… nothing. Emptiness, as if no memory had ever been there at all.

All she knew now was the Beyond, murky green tones, a soft, constant buzz of magic on her brown skin, and the sparks that spit from her left palm, which were - of  _ course  _ \- green, too. 

She tried to keep her schedule consistent; routine helped make the time spent in the Beyond more bearable, even though time itself was an odd concept now. Sometimes the sky darkened to something resembling night and sometimes there was nothing but bright green for what  _ felt  _ like days. She couldn’t be sure of how much time had passed because there was no set standard for how things happened here.

The only constant thing seemed to be her little nook of the Beyond and its unbreakable perimeter. She supposed she should be grateful for the wide, seemingly innocent river that blocked in one side of her niche - it stopped the nastier denizens of the Beyond from being able to interact with her. On the other side were tall cliffs that loomed intimidatingly and - frankly - claustrophobically. Sometimes a pathway would appear and sometimes it wouldn’t; honestly, it hardly mattered, because all it did was loop through misty green hills before returning to the exact same spot where she had started her journey.

She longed for something more, something tangible and real. She longed for answers, for companionship, for someone outside of this misty mess of green to know that she was  _ here _ . Maybe they could even help, maybe they could pull her from this place and back to wherever she had come from… which, she was sure of, was  _ not _ here. How could she have memories of such vibrancy, of people and places, if she had only ever existed in the Beyond?

Her heart ached, but for what, she wasn’t sure. 

Suddenly, the mark on her hand sizzled and she yelped in both pain and surprise. “ _ Fenedhis! _ ” she hissed, crashing to her knees and doubling over. Long strands of straight black hair fell into her face, which was now sticky with sweat from the pain. It didn’t last long; soon the searing sensation dulled into an ache and then into a painless throbbing. 

The mysterious smear of sickly green on her palm had always been active, it had always been bubbling or hissing or making some kind of noise or show of light, but it had never hurt this badly before. She squeezed her dark eyes shut, trying to ignore - a tugging sensation?

Her eyes flew open. It had…  _ felt  _ like someone was pulling on her hand, but she was still alone in her little clearing. There was no one; she was the only occupant of the area, like she had always been. But what-

There it was again. An urgent  _ tug.  _ She scrambled to her feet, staring down at her shaking hand. What was going-

“Looks like rain! Let’s find a cave.”

“Preferably one that  _ doesn’t  _ include a bear.”

“Aww, Seeker, I said I was sorry about that… the map didn’t say ‘bear territory’!”

“Hmph.”

Her heart skittered around in her chest as she whipped her head around wildly, eyes searching. The voices were muffled, like she was listening to someone speak through a wall, but they were  _ there.  _ At least two people - one a man and one a woman with an accented tone - were nearby. 

She shot down the path that led through the hills but was quite surprised to find that this time, it did  _ not  _ lead to the misty slopes. This time, it wound down, down, down into a steep canyon with slippery silt underneath her feet. She tried to follow the crumbling path downward, straining to hear any more of the conversation - but she could only hear her own ragged breath.

“Come back,” she muttered to herself, squeezing her eyes shut. She tried to concentrate. “Please, come back. I need to-”

Her palm tingled again and there was another pull.

“It appears to be vacant - and dry. Shall we venture inside for a closer look?”

A different voice, this one also a man’s but not as rough as the first one. Her heart pounded again. She resumed running and the canyon opened up into a grove of trees unlike any she had ever seen before. They were twisted and bent over, as if screaming or writhing in pain and there wasn’t a leaf in sight. They were planted uniformly apart, as if from some ancient plantation, though what one could hope to grow in a place like this, she didn’t know.

The voices grew louder as she jogged through the gnarled trees. 

“Normally I would insist on  _ ladies first,  _ but.. after that business with the bears, I think I owe you one. Give me a torch, would you, Curly?”

“Three,” the female voice said dryly. “You owe me three - one for each bear.”

“Ha! Alright. Fair enough.”

Finally, she reached the source of the conversation. In a clearing in the middle of the grove, there was a small pool of water, perfectly round. It didn’t look large or deep, but she was smart enough to know to not trust appearances in the Beyond. Slowly, cautiously, she approached the water.

At first, there was nothing, only light and shadow from the trees cast into the pool. But slowly, as she grew nearer and focused her attention on the shapes dancing around within the pool, the image cleared and the water stilled. 

There was a man inside. It was as if she was looking at him through a window, he was so clear that she sucked in a breath and her fingers dipped into the water, hoping to touch him. Ripples cascaded outward from the disruption and the image waved with wrinkles, but as she pulled her hand away the image cleared again.

The man looked unfamiliar. He was human with dark honey eyes and hair the color of summer sand. The expression on his face was very complex; he looked sad and tired and frustrated all at once and she imagined the muscles beneath his armor were tensed with responsibility. 

“Varric?” the man called, a thin scar on his lip catching the light. “Are you alright?”

Her eyes slid shut and she tried to concentrate. “Show me more,” she breathed in a desperate plea, opening her eyes. The Beyond seemed keen to obey today; the image of the man expanded and she could see his surroundings in the pool, too. 

She almost cried.

The world around him was  _ beautiful _ . The colors reminded her of an autumn fox; everything was red and gold and breathtaking, tinged with vibrant green grass and a dazzling blue-gray sky. The colors in the world were sharper and more saturated than she had ever remembered and in the distance she could see the gray mist of an approaching rainfall. 

She wished she could stay at the mouth of the cave forever, gazing out into the unfamiliar looking terrain, but the pool seemed determined to stay tracked on the blond man. When he moved, the pool shifted, so that his surroundings were the only thing shown in the water. 

“The coast is clear, everyone! No bears, no hostile mages or templars or demons, just a delightfully dry cave…” Leaning closer to the water, she was able to make out the face of the man who had spoken: a beardless dwarf with a crossbow poised rather elegantly in his hand. “Come on in, let’s try and get a fire going before everything gets damp.”

For what felt like a long time, she watched them, thoroughly enraptured. Just the simple pleasure of watching someone build a fire and ignite it brought a thrill through her; how long had it been since she had felt the heat from a fire? How long had it been since she had smelled a fresh shower of rain?

Enthralled, she sat cross-legged by the pool as she spectated. Soon enough she learned their names and matched their previously disembodied voices to each person. 

There was Solas, who was an elf, but... not an elf like she was. Her fingers lifted to her face. She had studied her own reflection in the wide river by her safe little clearing in the Beyond and although she could not feel the vallaslin beneath her fingertips now, she knew the tattoos were there. He had no such markings. His robes were plain and even his staff was foreign to her. He was definitely not Dalish - she remembered enough to be able to recognize an outsider when she saw one.

The woman was Cassandra and everything about her was businesslike, from the stern set of her mouth to the carefully braided crown of hair around her head. She was beautiful and strong and apparently more than capable of dispatching bears entirely on her own. 

Next to Cassandra was Varric, a beardless dwarf with a clever, fast-firing mouth and inky fingernails. Something stirred in her mind and she closed her eyes momentarily, trying to focus. Varric. Automatically her mind stirred up another word:  _ Tethras.  _ Tethras? She frowned, wondering what could be the connection between the two names. Perhaps her mind was… playing tricks again, with these half-recalled memories. She shook her head to rid herself of the nagging feeling that she wasn’t understanding something right in front of her and when she opened her eyes, they settled on the human man.

Cullen.  _ Cul-len.  _ Two syllables. The pool had centered itself on the man and although the others came into sight and disappeared out of frame as they moved, Cullen was always visible. It was hard for her to  _ not _ look at him - not that she was complaining; he was very good looking, for a human. He spoke the least amount of anyone else in their odd little group and yet they all seemed to be under his orders. Odd. She wondered what made him qualified to lead them and wondered even more about why the pool had revealed  _ him,  _ of all people. She didn’t know him, that she was sure of. Why would it reveal a complete stranger to her? Why not one of the smiling elves from her memories?

“Will we remain here for the night?” Cassandra asked some time later, after they had cooked a simple stew over their little fire. Smoke billowed up through cracks in the cave ceiling, whisked away out of sight. 

Cullen glanced toward the entrance of the cave and she almost gasped as the waters shifted. They changed color into beautiful jewel tones and warm citrusy orange colors; beyond the mouth of the cave, through the downpour of rain, the sun was setting into the golden hills.

“I miss sunsets,” she said it aloud, wistfully, letting her fingers skim over the surface of the water tenderly. Tiny ripples marred the image for a moment and then, to her surprise, Cullen glanced over at Cassandra.

“What do you mean?”

The dark-haired woman looked confused. “I was inquiring as to whether or not we will be camping here tonight or if you’d like us to-”

“No, about sunsets,” Cullen answered, bringing a spoonful of soup to his mouth. 

Cassandra cleared her throat. “I said no such thing.”

“You feelin’ alright, Curly?” Varric asked quietly. There was an odd silence then and she could almost feel the tension in the air through the water. Cullen set his spoon back down into his bowl.

“Yes, I’m - fine. I must have misheard. I’m sorry - carry on,” he muttered politely, standing from his spot on a flat rock. He stretched slightly, pulled his surcoat tighter around his armor, and then jerked his thumb toward the mouth of the cave. “I’ll take first watch.”

She could have whooped for joy. She could have done cartwheels and ran around yelling and crying and smiling and laughing all at once.  _ Sunsets.  _ He had  _ heard  _ her speak about sunsets. He could hear her. Someone could hear her. That was why the pool had conjured up  _ him  _ \- because she could speak to him.

Her hands shook as she kneeled next to the pool, trying to contain her tremors of excitement. She needed to verify it before she let herself become too excited, before she let herself daydream about any kind of escape, any path back into the real world.

Cullen, now sitting on a stone near the entrance of the cave, extended his hand out into the rain and then ran his wet palm first over his face and then down the back of his neck. He sighed slightly as he did so, sliding his eyes shut. There were dark circles beneath them.

She cleared her throat. “You’re - you’re not hearing things,” she managed to say, trying to sound as unassuming and non-threatening as possible. “I was the one that spoke.”

His control was impressive. He only tensed slightly, then casually glanced over his shoulder, back at the group gathered around the fire. Satisfied that they had neither heard her nor seen his body tense, he turned back to face the rain. “Leave me, demon.” he hissed softly, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists.

“Demon? I’m not a demon!” she said, shocked. She licked her lips and tucked her hair back behind her pointed ears. “Will you please help me?”

He sucked in a shaky breath. “Help you!? I’ll not listen to anything you say. Be gone, demon!”

_ That  _ caught her off guard and for a few seconds there was only stunned silence between them. “But - you don’t even know what I wanted to ask-”

His face was twisted as he spoke, his skin damp from the rainwater he had pressed onto his face. “I know what you want,” he said. The disgust, the fear, the hatred in his voice scared her - as did the underlying pain beneath. “You want the same thing you wanted all those years ago, to - to break me… to show me things that aren’t real and I won’t-”   


He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned against the rough wall of the cave, his hand gripping the stone with so much force that his knuckles bloomed white and bloodless.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she managed finally. “I’m not-”

There was an odd feeling in the air, then, and an eerie shimmer to the vision in the water. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and her skin prickled uncomfortably. The air was cold and steely and it felt like iron on her skin as it weighed all around her. “Get away from me,” Cullen half-hissed, half-pleaded. “ _ Get out of my head! _ ”

“Is - are you doing that?”

“I’m not strong enough without the lyrium,” he muttered to himself, eyes opening. They were rimmed with red now. “I said,  _ leave me.  _ I won’t give you what you want.”

Her dark eyes widened in surprise. “I’m not a  _ demon _ ,” she said. “I’m a woman-”   


His mouth twisted into an ugly, unimpressed smile. “A woman? Let me guess: a mage? From Kinloch Hold? The one I  _ couldn’t _ …”

Kinloch Hold. She knew the name, somehow - not from books or a visitation, but from gossip. Whispers of demons and mages and the stench of death and rumors. “I’ve never set foot in a Circle in my entire life,” she said, trying to sound confident. She wasn’t sure if she did or not; her voice wavered slightly. “I don’t remember much, but I know that.”

“I don’t  _ care  _ what you know,” he breathed and his icy tone made her breath catch in her chest. Tears stung at her eyes; he was her way out of here, he was the sudden hope in this cursed green place and he was unbearable.

“I’m an elf - Dalish. I remember…” she squeezed her eyes shut so tightly they almost hurt. “The smell of the sea. The sound of the halla, restless in their pen as a wolf howls-”

“Stop-”

“Green. Green light, everywhere, and it’s snowing outside. And there’s a woman - they’re hurting her - and I run, trying to go fast, but there are  _ things _ , there are  _ spiders _ , there are-”

“That’s enough,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “Get out of my mind and out of my memories!”

The prickling feeling in the air was back again and a wave ran through the water, wiping away any trace of the man from the surface. For a long time she sat and looked into the now-blank pool, thoroughly perplexed.

Cullen had commanded that she leave  _ his  _ memories. But… those were  _ hers.  _ The woman in the robes, the one bathed in green light, she-

She cursed under her breath, shoving herself up onto her feet. The memory was gone, lost, fallen away into darkness. She would leave, for now, and hope that the path to the grove would show itself again tomorrow.


	2. Voices and Vices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen is tempted by lyrium and approaches a friend to help deal with the newfound occupant of his mind.

The demon’s voice did not make a reappearance in his mind, but Cullen could not banish it from his thoughts.  For the next few days he felt like he was constantly looking over his shoulder, as if he would look back and  _ see  _ a demon there, dripping with red, waiting for him to give in.

Cullen was at war with himself. If he hadn’t had any more contact with the demon since that day in the Hinterlands, that meant that his Cleanse had worked. Unless it was simply  _ waiting  _ for him to become more vulnerable, for his sleepless nights to lower his  defenses . 

He needed to be  _ sure  _ that he was rid of it. Then his sleep would return and so would his ability to concentrate. 

One morning, he let his insomnia work to his advantage. Before the sun had even risen over the white mountains around Haven, Cullen headed off to his office in the Chantry, his surcoat pulled tight around his body. A blanket of undisturbed fresh snow crunched underneath his boots. The noise was deafening.

The Chantry was cold. A few half-hearted fires burned weakly along the long hallways bu t they did little for heat; apparently it was too early for logs to be added to the grates. Cullen quickly ducked into his office, then began building a small fire in the brazier in his room. His hands were shaking enough without even factoring in the temperature of the room and he did  _ not  _ need any additional unsteadiness for his next task.

As the fire began to burn, he paced back and forth in the little office, rubbing his palms together in an attempt to warm himself. His feet moved around on their own, impatient and nervous. He swallowed. His mouth felt like sand. 

When the small room was sufficiently warm, he seated himself behind his desk and then glanced upward one last time at the door of his office. It stayed closed and even when he concentrated, he could not hear movement in the Chantry. 

If he was going to do this, now would be the time.

His hands, still not entirely warmed, shook as he lifted the little wooden box from his lap to the top of his desk. It was such a familiar weight in his palms. He knew every scratch in the wood, every creak of its hinges as it opened. Even the dusty smell from the old velvet lining inside was a caress against his nose. 

He did not want this reunion. 

He _ needed _ it. He needed to drive the demon away, to protect the Inquisition, to be  _ enough.  _

Honey eyes glazed over the contents and softly, his fingertips ran along the cold glass phial within. He searched his desk for his spare canteen of water and drank half of it, only to find that it still did not alleviate his dry throat. He did not remove the tools from within the box. 

How long had it been? He exhaled. Three weeks? Four?

Slowly, he pulled the lyrium from the kit, hands trembling. He needed it. The alternative was... unthinkable. Cullen could not withstand another Kinloch Hold, he could not live through  _ another _ -

_ There was screaming and crying and laugh and gurgles of blood and then - somehow even more horrifying - silence. Purple mist curled around his ankles, billowed in from the crack underneath his office door. Warm blood rushed into his ears and there were sickly sweet whispers and taunts stroking at his ears- _

Cullen cradled his head in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut so tightly that stars appeared behind his eyelids. The lyrium phial, still in his fingers, pressed cold against his cheek. 

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

He tried to swallow the sticky lump in his throat and then he forced himself to open his eyes. Slowly, his gaze shifted around the room. “The desk, the bookshelf, the candle,” he whispered, voice shaking at first. “The cold from the window. The heat from the brazier. The desk, the bookshelf, the candle-”

“You’re not going to take that, are you?”

Cullen stood so fast that his chair tipped over. His head felt muddled from the sudden movement and for a moment he had to grip the desk to regain his balance. Heart pounding, he reluctantly looked over his shoulder.

It was just as he feared: he was alone. There was no one in the room except for him and yet the voice had sounded as if it was right next to him, as if-

“If you don’t want to listen to me, at least listen to Brother Genitivi,” the voice continued. It was the same voice that had spoken in the Hinterlands, the same melodic female tones that had haunted his thoughts since that first encounter.

“What?” he hissed, his grip tightening around the little lyrium phial. He squeezed his eyes shut again, trying to steady his breath. “I won’t listen to anything you say, I-”

“Ferdinand Genitivi,” the voice continued, a little louder and more insistent now, acting as if he had not spoken. “He wrote  _ In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar _ . He describes the effects of prolonged lyrium use in deta _ il-” _

_ “Leave me! _ ” His voice shook a little and he hated how  _ affected  _ he sounded, how a voice in his head could nearly bring him to his knees. His palms were sweaty and his breathing was ragged. For a moment, Cullen felt like he had transformed back into the young, unprepared man at Kinloch Hold again.

“The side effects are disorientation, paranoia, hallucination-”

But he  _ wasn’t  _ the young man at Kinloch Hold anymore. He was older now and the world had been hard on him; he would not let a demon have such power over him, not after everything he had been through, not after everything he still had ahead of him with the Inquisition. 

Cullen’s grip on the lyrium tightened momentarily, then loosened as he exhaled a long-held breath. His voice was an echoing bellow, a lion’s roar, wrought iron and flames. “I said  _ leave me _ !”

There was a long moment of silence after his powerful order. The voice was small when it returned, hesitant and yet still daring enough to sound stubborn. “Fine. I’ll go - just… don’t do it. You’ll do more harm to yourself than good by drinking it.”

“Get out-”

“Fine,” the voice said quietly. There was something he couldn’t quite detect in its tones, something like sadness or longing. Demon tricks. “Goodbye, Cullen.”

There was silence - or near silence, anyway; he could hear muffled footsteps in the hall outside of his office. It seemed Haven had finally stirred from its sleep. Cullen reached up to wipe the clammy sweat from the back of his neck, then hauled his chair back to its proper position.

For a while he just sat, kit on his desk and phial in his hands.

_ You’ll do more harm to yourself than good by drinking. _

The words lingered in the air around him. Why would a demon care about his health? Surely, imbibing in lyrium would deteriorate his mind faster than abstaining. Wouldn’t it be easier to possess him if he was too weak to fight off any attack? 

Perhaps it knew that once he had the lyrium in his system, making his abilities stronger, he would be able to rid himself of the demon forever. 

Doubt gnawed at him.  _ Since when did demons read books by Brother Genitivi? _

Cullen hesitated, rolling the glass phial around in his palm. Faintly, the Mark on his hand glowed, a gentle reminder of all that was at stake. If he took the lyrium now, would he ever be able to stop or would he descend into full-fledged madness? And if he didn’t give in, would he be strong enough to resist the voice in his head?

Gently, he set the lyrium back into the kit and closed it.

If the Cleanse he had performed in the Hinterlands wasn’t strong enough, then he would seek out assistance first... and only return to the lyrium as a last resort.

He left the office, then the Chantry, and headed down the path that led to the commander’s tent. Rylen was a good man, a trustworthy man, one who had proved that he was more than able to fill Cullen’s former position. If anyone could assist him while also understanding the importance of discretion, it would be Rylen. 

Surprisingly, as Cullen approached the  tents , he noticed a lantern blooming inside of Rylen’s, casting a fuzzy-edged silhouette on the khaki canvas. Cullen hesitated, well aware that the sun was only just beginning to light the dark sky. 

“Rylen?” he called. “You’re awake?”

There was a muffled answer from within, something that sounded like an affirmation, and then the flap was pulled back. Rylen appeared in the gap, dressed in an oversized cream tunic and thick brown pants. “Cullen,” he said in greeting, the lines of his tattoo stretching as he smiled. “Good morning. It’s pretty early, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“Must be important, then,” Rylen answered. He jerked his head a little, beckoning Cullen inside.

The commander’s quarters looked, frankly, nearly identical since Cullen had vacated them. There were only a few items here and there that Rylen must have added: a small banner emblazoned with the bold heraldry of Starkhaven, a sheathed sword hung over a chair, and a lyrium kit on the table. 

Cullen wondered if he still used it. He surveyed the commander, who was now pulling on his boots and armor. It was hard to tell in the low light of the lone lantern, but Rylen’s hands seemed to be steady. The circles beneath his eyes were no darker than usual. 

“Do you still use lyrium?” Cullen asked finally.

Rylen glanced up from where he was fastening the straps on his greaves. “Not as much, if I can help it,” he said. “Some, though, especially lately when we’ve been needed at full strength.”

“Ah.”

“Why do you ask?”

Cullen hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I would ask a favor of you. I need your assistance - and the help of others that you trust, too… ones that can be discreet,” he said. Rylen didn’t speak, but he did raise a dark eyebrow. “We need to perform a Cleanse.”

The commander quickly nodded, burnt umber curls bouncing with the affirmative movement. “Of course. What are we Cleansing?”

“Me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! <3


	3. Fire and Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visitor appears in the grove in the Fade.

The pool in the grove was slowly driving her mad. 

Sometimes, for hours at a time, it would show Cullen’s every move. That was the case when she had seen him tossing and turning in his bed all night before heading to his office to retrieve his lyrium kit.

Other times, it would show her nothing. The pool would shine glassy onyx or deep green and that was all, no faces or sounds. The only thing she could see during these times, when she peered into the water, was her own reflection looking back.

Still, she lingered by the pool, waiting for the next time it decided to show her something besides waves. A tiny part of her mind feared the worst, that she had lost her opportunity to somehow break into the physical world. As the time between visions of Cullen grew, so did her worry.

_ I’ll be here forever,  _ she couldn’t help but think as she lay by the water one day, flat on her back with her fingers absently running over her cream colored robe. Her hair stretched out behind her, an inky fan among all the green.  _ I’ll never be able to talk to him again, never get a chance to get out of here. _

She regretted her last encounter with Cullen. She had  _ voluntarily  _ said goodbye and he hadn’t appeared in the water since then.  _ Stupid! Stupid!  _ Perhaps she should have -  _ no _ . 

She would not let herself feel guilty over such a situation. There had only been one choice: to discourage him from using the lyrium. It was the right thing to do; she could quote the side effects of prolonged lyrium use verbatim and no one deserved to suffer such a fate. She  _ had _ to believe that he would reappear in the pool someday. It was only a matter of waiting.

There was not much for her to do in the Beyond as she waited. She did not experience hunger or thirst; she did not grow tired. Sometimes she tried to sleep and felt like she  _ almost  _ experienced it, but maybe that was just wishful thinking. 

Most of the time she was alone, unless she counted the occasional flock of birds that morphed into bats mid-flight. They didn’t bother her. Once she thought she saw a cat or at least something distinctly feline, but it darted away into the gnarled trees so quickly that she couldn’t be sure. 

She grew restless and pulled herself up from where she had been lying next to the pool. Her mind raced while her feet carried her in a lazy circle around the grove, always keeping the water in view.  _ Concentrate,  _ she told herself, stopping to lean against one of the tree trunks. If she couldn’t summon Cullen then she’d summon someone else. She  _ had  _ to. She would  _ not  _ spend eternity in the Beyond-

The hair on the back of her neck stood up suddenly and gooseflesh spread down her brown arms. 

She turned, glancing over her shoulder into the thick area of trees. For a long moment she stared into the tangled grove, heart pounding and dark eyes flicking to the slightest movement.

There was no one there.

_ Did I imagine that?  _ she wondered as her heart slowed. She turned back to face the pool once more and almost gasped - the water was shifting. Lights and shadows churned within, changing colors, forming the familiar profile of Cullen. She smiled.

He was walking with someone she hadn’t seen before, a curly-haired man with a tattoo stretching down his nose and chin. The area around them was almost blindingly white with snow and it looked like they were speaking as they walked. Straining to hear their words, she stepped closer to the pool and considered saying something, wondering how to begin a new conversation after their last interaction. Had he taken the lyrium?

Probably not. He looked just as miserable as he had the last time she had tried speaking to him, if not worse. Lyrium would have lessened some of the shadows beneath his eyes, it would have alleviated some of the trembling in his hands as he held them at his side. 

“Cullen-” she began quietly, hesitant as he arrived at a small wooden cabin. She could see now that he was not alone with the tattooed man; a handful of serious-looking soldiers trailed after the pair. Was this a training exercise, maybe?

She didn’t get the opportunity to find out.

A searing pain blossomed in her calf and her knees buckled instantly, sending her crashing down next to the pool of water. Her hands stung from the impact. Wildly wrenching herself around, she saw the cause of the burning pain in her leg: ice was slowly spreading up from the ground, sliding along her skin with a searing coldness. 

“What is this?” she muttered frantically, trying to push the cold away from her skin. She reeled back, kicking away from the pool, scuttling along on her hands and knees. The burning, icy pain continued - and then worsened.

Ice bloomed again, this time from her other foot, and now she could see its true source. Perhaps twenty paces away, a figure in a black hood hovered, watching her for a moment before sending another spike of ice her way. This time, she dodged it, rolling on her side and very nearly slipping into the water.

Her now waterlogged boot squelched as she stumbled to her feet unsteadily, sheets of ice breaking off of her legs. 

The black hood fluttered in a wind she couldn’t feel and the first glimpse of the creature beneath the fabric took her breath away. It looked like a nightmarish rat, all loose gray skin and grotesquely large teeth. A name rose to her mind instantly: despair demon.

Nothing else helpful came to her, no combat technique or known weaknesses. There was no secret to dispatch the demon instantly and there was nothing near her - no sword or mace or even a dagger. She scrambled, slipping on ice, toward one of the gnarled trees. To her surprise, as she moved to snap one of the branches from the trunk, the tree jerked its limb out of her grasp as if offended she would even try to use it as a weapon.

“Help me!” she screamed desperately as the demon shot another ice bolt in her direction. She wasn’t fast enough to dodge this one; it hit her left shoulder and knocked her to the ground. Immediately another bolt followed the first, sinking into her stomach with a sound like shattering glass. 

Her palm pressed against her belly and she expected it to be slick with blood but she couldn’t feel it. She couldn’t feel anything but cold and her hands shook and she was faintly aware of a choking scream being ripped from her own mouth. Her body trembled as she slowly sank flat onto her back.

She would die here. She would never know her name, never find out if anyone had loved her or mourned her disappearance. This was where she truly, truly died. 

“Stop, stop, stop,” she sobbed as the demon slowly grew closer, tattered cloak streaming behind its ghastly form. Her hands shook as she tried to break the ice that encased her legs. “I don’t want to go, I don’t want to die! Stop, please!”

Desperately, she glanced around, hands searching for something, anything. Only the pool was within her reach and she extended her palm toward it. Her fingertips dipped into the water and her left palm flared with green light.

“Cullen! Cullen, help me, please!”

There was no response from the water. If there was an image within, she could not see it. 

The despair demon grew closer. “ _ Leave me alone! _ ” Her voice broke and the creature did not obey; it circled down onto her like a vulture on carrion. Its awful teeth, yellowed and jagged, would be the last thing she would ever see.

Weakly, her own teeth chattering with cold, she lifted her palms toward the demon in one last attempt at self-defense. As her eyes slid shut, she saw a surge of fire course through her hands, colorful and deadly. The demon shrieked just as she lost consciousness. 


	4. the Cleanse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Rylen meet to perform the Cleanse.

Cullen’s knees bounced as he sat on the edge of his mattress, staring at the door to his small personal quarters. He had been fully dressed in his armor and surcoat for over an hour now, waiting for the sun to rise.

Rylen had said they would meet outside of his tent sometime during the early morning, but Cullen didn’t think their definitions of “early morning” were necessarily the same. For the Herald, who was plagued by sleeplessness and fear, his morning began long before the sun rose, when stars still pricked across the night sky. 

He took a deep breath, then exhaled through his nose, trying to calm his erratic heartbeat. The steady breathing remedied his racing thoughts for only a fleeting moment before returning full force, an uncontrollable knot in his stomach and shoulders and neck. A few quiet, sizzling green sparks fell from his palm. 

He waited, inhaling and exhaling over and over, wondering if perhaps time had stopped.

Eventually, pink light bloomed in the singular glass window of his room and his heart lurched yet again. Sunrise: a sure sign that “early morning” was approaching. He could hear the sleepy buzz of movement as Haven slowly came to life again, breaking its nightly hibernation.

He stood.

Rylen was already awake, flipping over some parchment on his clipboard as Cullen approached. “Morning,” the commander called, his dark brow furrowed. He passed the clipboard off to someone else, a black-haired officer with a scar along his temple. “Supervise the drills until I return. Are you ready, Cullen?”

He hesitated. “Yes,” he said. He was more than ready to be free of the voice and he was looking forward to returning to some semblance of normal. As normal as things could be, anyway, when one was simultaneously going through lyrium withdrawal and also had the key to sealing rifts seared onto their palm. 

“We’re off, then,” Rylen said with a jerk of his head, motioning for Cullen to begin the journey to the vacant cabin near Haven. As they walked among the tents, occasionally a templar would fall into step behind them and Rylen would name them off. “Beron. Stewart. Jash. Osmund.”

The templars did not speak, only gave tight nods of recognition as Cullen’s eyes fell upon them one by one. He wondered if Rylen had told them what they would be doing or if he was going to divulge that information once they were in the cabin. Either way, these were clearly the templars that Rylen trusted most, so maybe it didn’t matter if they had been informed or not. They would obey.

“While we’re walking, I may as well ask you,” Cullen said quietly as they crunched through the snow. He glanced over his shoulder; the other templars were carefully walking yards behind them. “Have you thought about stopping lyrium use entirely?”

The commander paused. “I’ve never gone without it for more than two or three days,” he admitted, wiping a gently fallen snowflake from his cheek. “When the withdrawal gets too bad, I - there’s always an excuse to take it.” 

“There’s an excellent reason to  _ not  _ take it, too,” Cullen said quietly. “It’s a rough road, Rylen, but I could help you. I haven’t taken lyrium in a little over three weeks.”

Rylen’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”

“Twenty-four days.”

The commander smiled but it was sad. “I bet you could tell me the hours, too, couldn’t you?”

“Probably,” Cullen admitted. “It’s difficult, but you’d be in good company.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Let’s get this business over with, first, and then I’ll talk with you later,” he said finally.

Silence fell over them for a few hundred feet. The snow was beginning to fall with determination; fluffy flakes clung to their eyelashes as they trudged onward, sending squirrels and rabbits running as they moved toward the cabin.

“You surprised me,” Cullen said after a while.

Rylen looked over at him, his breath white. “When?”

“Yesterday, when I asked you to perform the Cleanse,” Cullen said, ducking underneath a sagging, snow-covered branch. “You never asked me why.”

“You didn’t offer that information up,” he said, shrugging. “I figure you’ll either tell me or you won’t - but either way, I’ll still do as you ask. You didn’t request anything too outlandish and there’s no risk of anyone getting hurt… so I’m here, details or no.”

“I appreciate that.”

Rylen smiled, wrinkles near his eyes crinkling. “Stop trying to butter me up, Cullen, I’ve already agreed to help. We can’t have you howling at the moon.” 

Cullen smiled tightly but did not reply. They had arrived at their destination. The little wooden cabin looked far more sinister now than it had ever looked before. He tried to calm the growing knot in his stomach. He was not afraid that this would hurt; he was afraid that it wouldn’t work at all and he would leave the cabin with the same number of voices in his head that he had entered with.

“Cullen-”

He flinched. Rylen had not spoken. The templars behind them had not spoken. The voice was feminine and familiar. She -  _ it  _ \- must have sensed that her time as an occupant of his mind was drawing to a close. Cullen pressed his lips together and entered the cabin.

Inside was small but bright. Cullen stood in the center of the room as Rylen followed him into the cabin and the four other templars trailed after.

“Right,” Rylen announced, his tone shifting into an authoritative one. “You know why we’re here. Let’s not wait around. If you’re ready, Cullen, we’ll start immediately.”

He was surprised at the speed at which Rylen wanted to progress, but there was no real reason to draw this out any longer. The commander and the other templars looked at Cullen expectantly, though with no hint of judgment or hesitancy. 

“I’m-” Cullen began.

He was interrupted by the voice speaking again. “What is this?” It sounded afraid. He swallowed, pressing his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again. Rylen was watching him carefully, concern behind his eyes. 

Cullen straightened his back. “I’m ready,” he said, forcing his voice to be steady.

Rylen nodded, then shifted his weight. “Let’s begin, then. On the count of three, everyone. One. Two-” Cullen closed his eyes and spread his arms, welcoming the solitude he hoped would result from this Cleanse. “Three.”

Through his closed eyelids he could still see light, bright blue light, swirling and ebbing around him. He held his breath as he waited for the light to consume him; he had been around other templars when they performed Cleanses, but he had never been the center of one himself. 

It did not hurt. It felt like sinking into a hot bath, warm with a pressure that was simultaneously comforting and claustrophobic. His skin prickled. 

“Help me!”

Cullen swallowed, hard, and clenched his fists. He was grateful for the gloves he wore; without them, his fingernails would without a doubt be cutting tiny half moons into his palms. 

“We’re all alright?” Rylen called. One by one, the templars circling Cullen sounded off with affirmatives. “Cullen? You alright?”

“Yes!” he called, squeezing his eyes shut tighter. He had no doubt that the cabin itself was nearly silent; casting a Cleanse made almost no noise. But there was noise in his mind, the sound of impacts and grunts and what must be pain.

And then sobbing - Maker, the sound of a woman sobbing in his ears as if she were about to die. “Stop, stop, stop,” the voice pleaded, shaky and pained. “I don’t want to go, I don’t want to die! Stop, please!”

Cullen sank to his knees, fists balled. 

“Cullen?” Rylen called.

He opened his eyes and everything was blue. Deep velvety navy, bright robin’s egg blue, soft periwinkle all flowed around him like flames. “Keep going!” he barked back to Rylen. 

Green joined the blue of the Cleanse - his Mark illuminated suddenly, washing half the room in green light. Alarmed, he pulled his glove off, and green magic bloomed from his palm and cascaded over his hand. 

“Cullen! Cullen, help me, please!”

He grit his teeth as the voice called to him, pleading and afraid. He would not stop. He could not stop. His right palm wrapped around his left wrist, as if his tight grip could stem the green sparks falling from his fingertips. 

“ _ Leave me alone!”  _ the voice screamed, broken and hoarse with emotion. Cullen squeezed his eyes shut, hoping the screams would end soon. He  _ knew  _ it was a demon and it was trying to trick him, but the feminine screams tugged at him.  _ No, don’t fall for it,  _ he ordered.

And then, suddenly, everything was quiet.

The voice said nothing else. The strange glass-shattering sounds were gone and the cries of pain and the screams were no more. Cullen opened his eyes just in time to watch the last curls of blue light fall away from him. 

Rylen approached Cullen, his face covered in beads of sweat. “I’ve never done a Cleanse for that long,” he panted, offering a hand. He pulled Cullen to his feet. “If you need to go again, we can, we’ll just need to rest-”

“No. I think - it’s gone,” Cullen said shakily, running the back of his hand across his own damp forehead. His hands felt clammy and they trembled. “You did well. You all did well. Thank you.”

Rylen smiled, then, tentative. “You’re welcome. I think you owe us a round of drinks at the tavern, tonight,” he said jokingly, then turned to the other templars. “I don’t think I need to remind anyone that what happened in this cabin is not to be spoken about. Not to anyone. Not even among yourselves. Right?”

The other templars murmured affirmatives. Cullen moved toward them. His legs felt like jam. “I’m grateful to all of you,” he said honestly, then swallowed hard. “If you ever need anything, let Rylen know. He’ll come straight to me and I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

“Thanks, Herald,” one of the templars - Jash, he thought - said. “Honestly, right now I just need that drink.”

The other templars laughed and one reached forward to ruffle Jash’s dark hair. “Aye,” another one agreed, his thick mustache bouncing as he spoke. “We’ll see you at sundown, Herald, and we’ll keep a seat open for you.”

Cullen smiled and took in a long breath, feeling free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed so far <3 It really makes my day and helps me get all fired up to go on writing this story!


	5. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dalish elf awakens after the demon attack.

Her body ached. Her head throbbed. Death was painful, apparently.

She opened her eyes and the familiar greens of the Beyond greeted her. “Not dead,” she muttered, forcing herself up onto her elbows. Her cream-colored robes were saturated with water and squished as she moved.  _ Water? _

Slowly, she remembered. A despair demon had attacked her, sending bolts of ice flying at her until she had fallen down, here, near the pool. The ice must have melted by now, wetting her robes. She pressed fingers to her temple, rubbing soothing circles there as she frowned.

_ Why did the demon leave? How did I… _

Her eyes widened.  _ Fire.  _

She lowered her hand from her temple, staring down at her palms. Fire had leapt from her fingertips, apparently either killing the despair demon or scaring it away. The creature was no longer in the area, no remnants of it left behind in any shape or form. Gone, then, because of the flames she had created.

“I’m a mage?” she breathed quietly, wondrously, still gazing at her innocent-looking hands. The left one was marked with that green magic, still, but the right one looked as normal as ever. But she could clearly remember flames coursing through her, feeling warm and tingly but never burning. “I’m a mage.”

She stood a bit unsteadily, grimacing at the sensation of her heavy, soggy clothes pulling at her skin. The soaked robes sparked inspiration within her and she surveyed her hands once more, before shakily pressing them to her body, one on her stomach and one to her chest.

Her eyes slid closed. She faltered, wondering how to begin. With the despair demon, the spell had simply  _ come  _ to her in the form of pure, raw instinct in the face of death. Now she wasn’t in danger of dying, only in danger of being slightly uncomfortable as she wore damp robes. 

Still, she tried to concentrate, breathing calmly for a few long minutes. She attempted to summon the feeling of dry clothes and the comforting heat of a warm fire. After several moments, her belly tingled, as did her fingers, and  _ something  _ began to stir within her. 

It felt familiar.

The feeling reminded her of  _ home.  _ It was the comforting relief of finally sinking into bed after a long day, it was the heat from a hot, home-cooked meal. It made her want to cry and she wished,  _ oh _ , she wished she could remember where her home had been and who had made those meals.

Heat bloomed from her palms and she  _ did  _ cry then, sinking to her knees. 

“I’m a mage,” she sobbed in relief and mourning, jubilant in her reclamation of a lost piece of herself and sad because it served as a reminder of how much she had left to discover. Her formerly clenched palms unfurled themselves and she stared at her fingers, which were now surrounded by a dancing red and orange light. 

It wasn’t fire, not exactly, but it was warm and as she passed her glowing hands over her body and clothes, both dried instantly upon contact. Wet steam rose from her robes and after perhaps thirty seconds of this, she was fully dry and satisfyingly toasty. 

She released the feeling of home and as it faded, so did the magic around her hands.

A sudden thought intruded upon her happiness and sunk into her stomach like an iron ball:  _ Cullen isn’t going to like this. _

He was a templar, distrustful of mages and demons and while he  _ thought  _ she was one, now she could confirm that she was the other. Would he help her if he knew the truth? Or would he assume she was some sinister sorceress come to steal his mind and body? 

She glanced at the pool of water. The surface was still and dark. How long had she been unconscious? The last time she had seen Cullen was when he was walking to the wooden cabin in the snow with his tattooed friend.  _ How long ago was that?  _ Time worked oddly in the Beyond to begin with; how did it work when she was unconscious?

The water shimmered as she approached it and slowly, she knelt next to the pool. Her long black hair fell along the side of her face as she leaned over the water.

Music flooded into the tangled grove of trees as Cullen’s face appeared. He was in a tavern, surrounded by red-cheeked men and women that occasionally lifted heavy-looking tankards to their mouths. In the background, she could see the tattooed man from before; he was chatting with Cassandra. 

Cullen looked… not quite happy, but closer to it than she had ever seen him. There were still dark circles under his eyes but he looked lighter, somehow. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. She would not interrupt him, not now when he looked like  _ this.  _

She simply watched and waited and by the time he retired to his room for the night, she was able to mouth the words to the tavern song along with the soldiers. Still she did not speak, only spectated, as Cullen slowly climbed into bed and for the first time in a long time, fell asleep as soon as he pulled the furs over his body.

His image did not fade from the pool. For hours, she sat next to the pool as he slept. Sometimes she’d look over at him when he made noises, whether he was snoring softly from time to time or occasionally muttering distressed-sounding words.  _ No  _ and  _ get out _ and  _ keep away from me. _

She wondered if he dreamed of her, if she was the one making the dark shadows pass along his sleeping face.

A melody stirred within her, something sad and comforting simultaneously. The tune was soft and gentle, the words Dalish. _ Tel'enfenim, da'len, irassal ma ghilas. Ma garas mir renan - ara ma'athlan vhenas.  _ Roughly translated, the words meant: never fear, little one, wherever you shall go. Follow my voice - I will call you home.

She pressed her lips together to stop herself from humming the tune. The lullaby was meant to be comforting and her voice would never be comforting to Cullen. She was haunting him, in a way, and it made her sad. 

But if she didn’t speak to him, she would be lost in the Beyond forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is kinda short! But I hope you'll enjoy anyway. :3 Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed so far!


	6. the Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen enjoys his time without the voice in his head, but the respite is miserably brief.

“You’re in high spirits lately.”

Cullen glanced up from the map in the war room. The meeting was over and he had thought everyone had cleared out of the room to attend to other tasks; apparently, Leliana had lingered. She now looked at him expectantly, a smile - or perhaps a smirk - at the corner of her mouth. 

“Am I?” he questioned, letting his gaze fall back to the map. His fingers traced along the path to Therinfal Redoubt. Soon, they would have enough allies to recruit the templars - and to seal the Breach.

“You are,” she confirmed, then hesitated. Her tongue clucked as she considered something. “Perhaps ‘high spirits’ is not the appropriate phrase - in a higher spirit than  _ usual _ .”

He swallowed, shoulders stiffening. Leliana looked as unreadable and as calculating as ever - a cat atop its perch, watching its prey. “What do you know?”

“I know many things,” Leliana said with a light laugh, sitting on the edge of the expansive table. Cullen did not look up from the map, but he could feel her perceptive gaze. “I know that a few days ago, you and Rylen brought a group of templars to that little cabin in the hills. What I  _ don’t  _ know is what transpired there - the men that went with you have told no one... but I can infer.”

“I was - fixing a problem,” he said quietly, lifting his head. The fur of his surcoat brushed along his neck as he met her eyes.

Leliana studied him for a few seconds, before nodding. She slid off of the table and then left the room with nearly inaudible steps. He waited until the door closed behind her and then Cullen’s head tilted back and his eyes slid close. A long breath was drawn in through his nose, held in his chest, and then released through his mouth.

He needed…  _ something.  _

Cullen headed out of the Chantry and the icy wind tore at him like a clawed animal. He pushed through it, curls tossed this way and that. At the edge of Haven, a soldier called out to him. “Snow’s coming, Herald!” he yelled over the wind, pointing to a mountain to the north. A misty white cloud churned upon itself, moving quickly as it sunk down to Haven.

A walk was out of the question, then, even if he did like the way the cold heightened his senses. Cullen nodded at the concerned-looking soldier and then turned on his heel, heading back to his private quarters. The man on guard looked relieved; apparently he wasn’t keen on the idea of having to retrieve a half-frozen Herald from a blizzard.

“Curly!” Varric fell into step next to Cullen, bundled up in a heavy looking coat. “Quite a storm, huh? Kind of makes me wish I had a beard… I could use the extra insulation right now! But anyway, they’re herding us tent-dwellers into the Chantry or the tavern for the night. Fine by me! I have no desire to become a Varric-sicle.”

The dwarf offered a smile and Cullen returned it with a slight jerk of his head. 

Varric was not deterred; he studied Cullen. “You look like a man on a mission,” he said. 

Cullen laughed slightly - more out of bitterness than humor - he felt more like a caged animal, frustrated, pacing back and forth along well-worn paths. Leliana hadn’t  _ intended  _ to set him off, to remind him of demons and possession and all of his worries, but she had. What he wanted was lyrium - what he needed was a walk to clear his head.

“If you’re looking to be alone, there’s plenty of hiding places around Haven,” Varric suggested finally, shooting Cullen a knowing look. His tone was soft and considerate. “Try the storeroom in the Chantry. Nobody goes in there… and as an added bonus, it smells like bread all the time.”

He nodded. “Thank you,” he said after a moment as they came upon the tavern. 

Varric smiled, lingering for a moment with his hand on the door to the Singing Maiden. “Sure, Curly. Get some wine. Eat some food. Take care of yourself, alright? Not just everybody else,” he said, then slipped inside before Cullen could answer. 

The wind grew stronger as the storm hit, snapping at the flaps of tents and rattling evergreen bushes. Cullen climbed up the gentle slope to the Chantry and with some difficulty, wrenched open the door to the building and stepped inside. 

The difference between the two environments was monumental. A moment ago, sounds had been assaulting his ears - the rush of the wind, the creak of shutters, the warning calls of soldiers. Inside the Chantry he could only hear hushed voices and the occasional soft groan of wind moving against the building.

“Cullen,” Cassandra said in soft greeting, lifting a hand in recognition. She was overseeing the laying out of bedrolls on the Chantry floor in preparation for the long, cold night.

“Cassandra,” he said, carefully stepping around the bedrolls. She immediately went back to work and he did not stop to talk; Cullen headed not toward the store room, but to his office.

The room was small and snug, but familiar. He spent just as much time here as he did in his sleeping quarters - if not more. Cullen locked the door behind him, hoping that no one would need the Herald tonight. 

After tossing a few logs into the little brazier, he stood next to the lone, small square window in his office. The wind was hissing as it rushed by the glass and frost had formed in the corners. Cullen lifted his hand to the window, scraping off the layer of ice with his fingernail.

_ Mia was dancing around the toasty brazier, skirts swirling. It was her birthday and she had just received a new dress and a matching ribbon and was trying to get Branson to dance with her. Cullen sat on the window seat with Rosalie, who was quiet and wide-eyed, her golden hair shining in the candlelight.  _

_ “Watch,” he told her, lifting the lid off of her sewing box. Cullen pulled a shiny thimble from within and Rosalie stared obediently, thumb drifting to her mouth. He put the thimble on his index finger and pressed it against the frosty glass window, drawing designs in the ice. A swirl, a heart, a sword.  _

_ He finished his designs in his corner of the frosty window, then held the thimble out to Rosalie. She pulled her thumb from her mouth and slid the thimble over her finger, making circles and squiggles in the frost.  _

In his office, he smiled slightly.

Cullen lingered at the window for a few minutes, watching the residents of Haven scramble to head indoors before the snow worsened. Once the room had warmed, he sat at his desk and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment from one of the drawers.

The lid on his inkwell was flipped up and he dipped the end of a quill into the container.

_ Dear Rosalie,  _ he began to write.

“Who’s Rosalie?”

His elbow jerked into the inkwell, sending a fast-moving wave of onyx over his desk. Cullen gripped the quill so hard it bent and threatened to snap entirely. “ _ What? _ ” he hissed and was unable to suck in a breath. No.  _ No. _

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you,” the voice said, apologetic. “I was just curious. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you write a letter that wasn’t Inquisition-related or-”

“ _ How are you here? _ ” His body was coiled tightly, his backbone just as tension-filled as the quill. Cullen watched the ink drip over the edge of his desk, splattering onto the stone below. It didn’t make sense.  _ I had - had a group of skilled templars.  _ “We did a Cleanse. You’re not supposed to be-”

“A Cleanse? When did you…?”

“You were there. You must have been. I  _ heard _ you,” Cullen muttered, his fingers sliding into his hair. His eyes closed for a few seconds and it was like he was back in that cabin; he could feel the tingling around him and hear the - “Screaming.”

She -  _ it  _ \- the voice was quiet for a few moments. “I wasn’t - I didn’t even  _ know  _ you were… I was attacked by a demon. That’s why I was screaming. That’s why I was asking for help,” her voice was steelier now, disappointed in him somehow. “You ignored me.”

_ Of course,  _ he wanted to say.  _ Of course I ignored you.  _ Cullen’s mouth was a tight line. “It should have worked,” he said to himself.

“No, it shouldn’t have! It’s  _ never _ going to work. I’m not a demon or a spirit or-”

His fingernails curled against his scalp and he focused on the tiny half-moon pricks instead of her voice. If the Cleanse didn’t work, perhaps she was a stronger demon than he had thought. Beron, Stewart, Jash, Osmund, and Rylen - all skilled templars, all tried and true warriors.  _ If she’s too strong to be affected by a Cleanse performed by five templars, why isn’t she strong enough to possess me _ ?

Cullen wasn’t at his best right now, not by a long shot. The lyrium withdrawal had been eating away at him and then the presence of this new voice in his head had, too; he doubted he was strong enough to keep a demon at bay.

And she - it - was a well-read demon, quoting books at him. Something about everything was  _ off _ and the situation was blurring from a clear black and white to gray. Cullen’s spine curved as he leaned over his desk. 

She was still talking to him, although her voice was gentler now.

“Cullen?”

“No,” he whispered. “Leave me alone.”

Silence seeped into his head and he was alone with the crackling noise of the brazier and the feral howl of the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who has read and commented! :) Hope everyone is staying warm - we recently got out first snowfall! Definitely helps to set the mood as I write about Haven and the snowy mountains. Very grateful that I have a heater and don't have to rely on a brazier though! Hehe.


	7. The Ghislain Estate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and company head to the Ghislain Estate to meet with Madame de Fer, but things aren't as they seem.

A drop of sweat rolled from her hairline, down her neck, and slipped into the now-damp small of her back. The heavy outer layer of her mage robes had been shed quite some time ago in favor of the cool linen under-robe, but it had done little to change her body temperature.

The heat worried her.

It was very neutral-feeling in the Beyond, not quite warm but not quite cool. It felt like nothing. Yet she felt like she had a fever. _Why?_

The Dalish mage rubbed her palm across her upper lip, swiping at the sweat that had collected there. Perhaps the rise in her temperature could be blamed on her increased levels of mental concentration as she alternated between trying to remember magical spells and attempting to recall memories of her life. Perhaps the demon attack had some lingering effect on her well-being.

She would not consider a third option: that her physical body was deteriorating and becoming feverish as it finally broke down. People were not meant to be physically present in the Beyond, she knew that much. Maybe her location was finally taking its toll on her.

“I have to get out,” she told herself over and over, a new mantra as she sat next to the scrying pool in the grove of trees. However, she no longer waited for any activity in the water. She was finished hoping that Cullen, the so-called Herald of Andraste, would change his mind about her. He had made it clear time and time again that he wanted nothing to do with her and would not be offering assistance.

According to his admission about the Cleanse, he had even tried to sever the link between them. That had cut deep at her; he _knew_ that he was the only person she could communicate with. He _knew_ that interrupting their connection would surely make things harder - or impossible - for her.

Fire burned in her belly, this time from determination. If he wasn’t going to help her, then she would help herself.

She sat cross-legged near the pool, eyes closed, willing the dark corners of her mind to illuminate her old memories. Sometimes, this worked. Small memories slipped through the black knot in her mind occasionally. Lines from books, the names of plants, magical spells. Small things that were interesting and provided clues to who she had been, but not how she had arrived at this place.

 It seemed she had been… normal. A normal Dalish, living with her clan, studying plants and magic and lore. It was disappointing and in a way, didn’t make sense. Physically visiting the Beyond was so unheard of and dangerous; something terrible and life-changing _must_ have happened to her, but her memories didn’t support this theory. Her life had been quiet. When had it all changed - and why?

 Something was missing and it was driving her crazy.

 Hours (or at least what _felt_ like hours) were spent trying to uncover the missing memories that would bridge the gap between quiet Dalish life and being trapped in the Beyond. All she gained as a result of this intense concentration was a headache and an even sweatier brow.

 She rubbed soothing circles on her temples and approached the pool. Perhaps she could garner clues from Cullen’s world, even if he would not interact with her.

 As time had passed, she had gained a better control over the window into the physical world, able to move it slightly or focus on items she wanted to be larger. Occasionally she could even manage to read his parchment if she concentrated enough that the words became larger and clearer. So far the reports had been mostly of troops or forces moving, not anything in the past that would make her understand why she was connected to Cullen of all people. Still, without hope she would have nothing, so she approached the water optimistically.

 Cullen wasn’t reading a report. He wasn’t even in his office - or in Haven, as far as she could tell; he was walking through some grand estate with his usual company of Cassandra, Varric, and Solas following.

 Something tickled in her mind and a word rose to her lips to describe the decor and the fashion she could see at the estate: Orlesian. It was a very beautiful estate, albeit quiet, and a long table was set in an extravagant manner nearby. A long tablecloth and matching dinner napkins shimmered like pearls, white at first and then with subtle rainbows catching the light.

 “Beautiful,” she couldn’t help but say.

 Cullen’s lips pressed together tightly and he glanced over his shoulder.

 The fever prickled at her forehead. “You know very well no one will be standing behind you,” she said irritably. “I’m still trapped and neither one of us likes it, but until something changes, that’s how things have to be.”

 He did not - could not - react to her words. A smug smile spread across her face.

 For a while she was quiet, watching the events unfold in Orlais. The hostess of the dinner party was a dazzling woman named Vivienne de Fer, who sat at the head of the long table. She was charismatic but with an aura of power that made it clear this was not a woman to cross.

 “I hope everyone will enjoy the menu I’ve selected for tonight. I’ll admit it’s more catered to me, personally; I threw a salon here at the estate a few nights ago and now have no stomach to indulge on more elaborate, indulgent fare so soon,” Vivienne explained as servants brought the first course of dinner: a delicate looking arrangement of plants with lemongrass sauce. “I would have extended an invitation to the event, darling, but I thought a more intimate setting such as this might be more enticing to you, Herald.”

 Varric chuckled. “Curly _loves_ salons,” he assured Madame de Fer, his eyes glittering.

 The Dalish mage laughed in the Beyond, gleefully leaning closer to see Cullen’s flicker of displeasure.

 “Curly?” Vivienne echoed, pausing as she lifted her fork.

 “Varric is partial to nicknames,” Solas explained with a small smile. “Some more amusing than others.”

 “How… charming,” Vivienne decided finally. In the Beyond, the elf wondered if Madame de Fer _actually_ found his behavior charming. _Probably not. The pause between words sounded intentional._

 The conversation continued then, over another four courses. They all looked delicious and she couldn’t help but be a little envious; she didn’t hunger in the Beyond, of course, but she missed the taste of _things._ She missed cool water or wine sliding down her parched throat. _And soup!_ There was a pretty soup served near the end and she could _almost_ imagine how it must smell.

 Now she laid down next to the pool, propping herself up on her elbow so she could gaze into the water longingly. Her angular eyes stayed locked on Cullen’s barely-touched dessert, a fantastic looking halla made out of chocolate, with orange peel curls as antlers.

 Perhaps, if he had been more receptive, she would have asked him about its taste.

 “Yes, more wine,” Vivienne waved a servant over, indicating her empty crystal goblet, then cleared her throat as she addressed the table. Her hands, covered in pretty rings, folded in front of her politely. “Herald, I expect you’re curious as to why I reached out to you.”

 “I assume you either need our assistance or would like to offer yours,” Cullen said, an eyebrow arching.

 Vivienne smiled. Again, the Dalish elf wasn’t sure if it was sincere or not. It was very hard to tell with this woman. “Yes, dear, the latter.”

 “What would you expect in exchange?” Cassandra asked, her voice carefully controlled.

 “In exchange? Darling, must you be so cynical?” Vivienne tutted. “With Divine Justinia dead, the Chantry is in shambles. Only the Inquisition might restore sanity and order to our frightened people. As the leader of the last loyal mages of Ferelden, I feel it only right that I lend my assistance to your cause.”

 Cassandra glanced at Cullen. The golden-haired man cleared his throat. “The Inquisition would welcome new allies, of course,” he said smoothly, then nodded at the servant who was indicating his nearly-empty goblet. “Thank you.”

 The servant lifted Cullen’s glass, whisking it away to pour the wine a few steps behind him.

 “Wonderful. Great things are beginning, my dear, I can promise you that,” Vivienne said, smiling. “Now, I do expect-”

 Madame de Fer kept speaking, but the Beyond-bound mage wasn’t listening. Her attention, unlike the occupants of the grand estate’s dining room, was elsewhere. The servant who had picked up Cullen’s goblet was taking a little too long to return it to the Herald. She watched him.

 Sweat beaded on his forehead. His hands shook and he sloppily poured wine into Cullen’s goblet.

 She leaned closer to the pool. A small vial was pulled from his pocket and with his hands trembling even more now, he emptied its contents into the freshly-poured wine.

 “He’s putting something in your drink,” she said automatically, leaning closer to the water.

 Cullen did not blatantly react, though she saw him stiffen slightly. The goblet was placed on the table in front of him and he lifted it, as if he was going to take a defiant sip.

 “He put something in your drink - something besides wine,” she said again, but this time her voice was a little more hysterical. “Don’t drink it! I’m not joking or lying, Cullen, he-”

 He lifted the wine to his nose. _Maybe he’s smelling it… or maybe he’s getting ready for a drink._ Panic rose within her.

 “Cullen, _don’t-_ ”

 “Madame de Fer,” Cullen said suddenly, his voice controlled. “I hope you won’t take offense, but as a precautionary protocol, we randomly check whatever we’re consuming for any additives.”

 “We do?” Varric asked, raising an eyebrow.

 “Yes,” Cassandra confirmed immediately, eyes flicking to Cullen briefly. There was a question in her eyes. “We do.”

 Vivienne looked a little irritated at being interrupted, but she quickly shrugged. “Of course. You can never be too careful when you’re in a position of power - which you now are. Feel free to proceed, my dear. No offense will be taken.”

 “Solas?” Cullen asked, extending the goblet to Solas. The crystal glinted in the light, casting shimmering reds on the pearly tablecloth. They looked like bloodstains.

 Solas looked thoughtfully down into the wine for a moment, before lifting his palm and resting it on the rim of Cullen’s goblet. He muttered something under his breath, something quiet and fast, and his hand glowed first blue and then red.

 Blue light flared again - but this time in Vivienne’s palms and behind Cullen, where the wine pourer had been attempting to vacate the dining room. He was now frozen in place, eyes wandering around the room in horror.

“Let me guess - red doesn’t mean ‘this has no poison, it’s _read-_ y to drink?’” Varric asked with a grimace.

Vivienne’s expression was unreadable and a manicured eyebrow quired ever so slightly. “Interesting. Pass that wine to me, would you, darling?” Her voice was controlled. She said nothing about the servant who was beginning to make whimpering noises in the doorway.

Madame de Fer held her palm out expectantly and Cullen nodded; the goblet was passed down the line. She lifted it to her nose and inhaled.

“This wine has hints of cherry where there should be none,” she said, swirling the contents around in the goblet. “I’m certain someone has added Mocking Cherry to this drink.”

“A poison,” Solas explained. “Non-lethal, but a poison nonetheless. Guaranteed to incapacitate its drinker… at least for a few days.”

Vivienne laced her fingers together again. Her rings caught the candlelight. “Your enemies are quite bold, aren’t they, Herald?”

“Only a few,” Cullen said carefully, glancing over the shoulder at the servant “But I didn’t expect any would be present tonight.”

“I assure you, the wine pourer acted alone. It’s unfortunate he chose to do so at an event of mine. You may take him with you, if you’d like. Kill him or imprison him - it’s all the same to me, darling.”

In the Beyond, the Dalish elf gasped. “ _Kill_ him?”

Cullen did not react; his eyes were on Cassandra as the dark-haired Seeker spoke. “It’s curious that on the same night we first meet you, someone would attempt to poison the Herald in your own home.”

“On the same night that I offer to assist the Inquisition,” Vivienne corrected. “It would be rather counter-productive of me to incapacitate the head of the organization I wish to join, wouldn’t it?”

“Perhaps not if you also wished to quickly rise in its ranks,” Cassandra said pointedly.

“You’re a rather suspicious one, aren’t you, dear? It’s not very becoming-”

The Dalish mage wrung her hands together, sitting up from her formerly casual lounge position. “You can’t kill the man,” she said again, looking into the water. Cullen’s expression was unreadable. “He’s _not_ an assassin-”

“Excuse me for a moment,” Cullen said after a moment, interrupting Cassandra’s bickering with Vivienne. “I need - some air - while I think.”

“Of course,” Vivienne said, gesturing to a hallway past the frozen servant. “You’re welcome to any of our balconies, though with the very recent attempt to poison you, I would recommend one of the enclosed balconies. They are more secure, my dear.”

Cullen nodded and exited at the doorway she had indicated. Coolness washed over his skin as he passed the wine pourer, who was still making little noises of fear and discomfort. The Herald quickly found a sizable balcony that was covered with lattice on all sides. Flowers bloomed and fluttered in the wind, raining pink petals onto the balcony’s white stone floor.

She tried again, clearing her throat before she spoke toward the scrying pool. “He was shaking like a leaf when he poisoned you, he’s not a professional, I don’t think he wanted to do it-” she protested.

Cullen pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, squeezing. “I won’t kill the man.”

“Good,” she breathed, relieved.

For a long time Cullen didn’t speak. He seemed to be staring through one of the gaps in the lattice, but his eyes were unfocused, as if he wasn’t really there.

“It would have been easier for you to possess me if I had ingested the drink,” he said after a while. Then, sounding frustrated, “ _Why did you warn me_?”

In the Beyond, she pulled on her hair, rolling her eyes. If she had been able to reach through the pool she would have grabbed him by the collar and shaken him. “I don’t _want_ to possess you! I don’t want to tempt you or lure you or hurt you - or do _anything_ with you - I just want you to help me get out of  here! As I’ve told you before-”

“You’re not a demon,” he said, although she was unsure if he was echoing her former statements or making his own. “And it doesn’t appear that you’ll be leaving me alone anytime soon, either.”

“Probably not,” she huffed.

He was quiet for a long time again. His expression changed only minorly; a twitch in the crease between his eyebrows, a clenched jaw, a hand rising to rub the back of his neck. “For the moment, at least, it - it would seem the only way to get you out of my head would be to offer my assistance,” he said finally. “I’ll need you to make a list of things you remember about yourself in order to expedite the process. But I will be-”

“Monitoring me at every moment? Attempting to perform some kind of exorcism or Cleanse every single time you talk to me? Halt any effort to help me at the slightest sign that something is awry?” she guessed dryly.

“Exactly.”  
  
“I expected no less.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and reviewing! <3


	8. Anxiety and an Inkwell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and his Fade-bound associate begin their cooperation.

Cullen could procrastinate no longer. 

He had told the voice that he would offer his assistance (reluctantly and certainly cautiously, with many doubts and second guessing), but they hadn’t spoken very much since the incident at the Ghislain estate. Every fiber of his being was telling Cullen that it was a bad idea, that he couldn’t trust a disembodied voice in his head and so he was in no hurry to convene with the being.

The voice didn’t share his cautious sentiments.

“It’s snowing,” she said suddenly one day, sounding oddly smug. 

Its -  _ her _ \- assessment was correct. The snow had started early in the morning, before the sun rose and had only increased in ferocity as the hours passed. Now there were thick flakes striking hard with the wind, building snow drifts around the buildings even after the sun had vanished below the mountains hours ago. 

Cullen, heading back into Haven from a small meeting with Rylen, strolled past some recruits who were shifting from foot to foot to keep warm as they awaited their turn in the makeshift sparring ring. 

Once there was enough distance between Cullen and the recruits, he nodded reluctantly. “It is,” he said quietly, glancing behind him to make sure that no one could hear him talking to ‘himself.’ His curls were tossed this way and that by the wind, catching snowflakes in the golden nest as he walked up the incline to the Chantry. “What of it?”

“It would be dangerous to leave Haven right now.”

“It would be,” he confirmed reluctantly. He could see where this conversation was going.  _ It would be dangerous to leave Haven, so you have nothing to do but talk to me now,  _ he imagined her saying.

“So, you have no responsibilities to take care of. We can go review all of the things I remember about my life,” she said, voice once again tinged with smugness. Cullen would have chuckled at the accuracy of his prediction if he hadn’t been guessing what a disembodied voice in his head was going to say next. 

“I…”  _ I don’t want to do this.  _ Cullen took a breath, exhaling in the cold wind. The way to silence the voice was through humoring it - helping it - until there was a solution that would separate them forever… even if it meant the entire time he would be fighting his instinct to cut himself off from it completely. “I suppose you’re right.”

He pulled his surcoat tighter around him for the last few yards to the Chantry. Once inside, he stamped his snow-covered boots on the modest, worn rug inside the door in an effort to prevent tracking snow and mud down the recently-cleaned floor. A maid standing by with a mop and bucket gave him a grateful look.

The Chantry held more people than it normally did, no doubt because of the weather. Cullen was glad for the occupancy and the buzz of conversation; perhaps this meant no one would hear him in his office speaking to the voice. He headed to the small, cozy room that he had claimed.

As soon as he entered his office, his gaze went to the frost-covered window and with a sickening pang in his stomach, he was reminded of his last interaction with the voice that had taken place here. He shuffled his gaze down, concentrating on the brazier, lighting candles around the room.

Finally, once the room was warm and well-lit, it was clear he could do nothing else to stall. His palms were damp. Cullen cleared his throat and pulled out his desk chair, the wooden legs scraping against the stone floor noisily. Parchment and ink were pulled from the drawers.

There was silence in the air and iron in his stomach.

“Are you ready?” she asked finally.

Her voice was void of all smugness now and in its place he could hear hesitancy and a drop of concern. Cullen couldn’t tell if it was genuine or not and at this point - did it matter? He had agreed to help it - to help  _ her.  _ He could go back on his word, but that was not the way to rid himself of this voice. He would have to press onward until she gave him a reason to stop.

“I’m ready,” he said, mouth dry, flipping the lid up on his inkwell. “What do you remember?”

For the next hour and a half she listed things so quickly and efficiently that Cullen was sure she had rehearsed her list over and over since that moment at the Ghislain estate. He struggled to keep up at first, but when she noticed he was getting behind with transcribing her words she slowed until he caught up. 

They built a rhythm together and although his mind and body were coiled tightly like a snake at the beginning of their work, by the end the knots had melted from his shoulders he was singularly focused. This was a task, that was all - a task of transcribing spoken words. 

The world melted away until there was only the sound of the voice, the scratch of his quill on paper, and the crackle of kindling in the brazier.

Some of the things she remembered were so small and vague that he was sure they wouldn’t help in the hunt for her identity. She remembered  _ trees.  _ He had to stop himself from pointing out that trees were present across all of Thedas; Cullen bit his tongue and kept writing, falling back into his work. 

Some things she articulated were more helpful and… curious. She remembered having positive interactions with humans and regularly making trips into a human settlement. Dalish history was something she was well-versed in, too; he wondered if she had been someone important… or had stolen the memories of someone important. 

Cullen switched between suspicion and curiosity often as he scribbled on into the night, voicing neither, a silent scribe. His hand hurt by the time she slowed down and ink covered his fingertips.

“... and that’s all,” she announced finally, quietly. Cullen looked over the eight pieces of parchment he had filled completely with small, cramped writing. He was sure some of the spelling was incorrect; he had written out many Dalish names and words phonetically as best as he could.

“That’s a start,” he said finally, absently rubbing one of his eyes.

“It’s a  _ good  _ start,” she corrected. “... thank you, Cullen.”

He stiffened at the casual way she said his name and didn’t respond, choosing to instead pick up one of the pieces of parchment and read over it. His mind moved automatically. 

The next logical step would be cross-referencing these memories with the different Dalish clans of Thedas and eliminating the clans she could not have belonged to, based on the information she provided. 

Cullen’s stomach tightened. Leliana could get this done. The spymaster could get any information from anyone; she could contact all of the matching Dalish clans and have an answer back within a fortnight, if they chose to offer up information. 

He exhaled. He could not ask for such a task to be completed. 

Leliana might ask for an explanation - and even if she didn’t ask him  _ directly  _ for one, he knew she would search until she found one. Once her interest was piqued, she had a tendency to sink her talons into something until she had information. Certainly, she would find out about the Cleanse with Rylen… if she didn’t already know. 

How long would it be until she put the pieces together? How long would it be until Leliana showed up in front of him, having figured everything out?

“You should go to bed.”

Her voice broke through his spiralling thoughts. Cullen cleared his throat. “I have things to do,” he said, collecting all of the notes he had written. He opened one of the desk drawers and then hesitated, looking around the office for a better hiding place.

“You’re tired. I can tell - you’re doing that eye-rubbing thing you always do,” the voice said stubbornly. “Whatever work you do tonight will just be riddled with ink splotches and mistakes. Do it tomorrow.”

It - she - was right. Cullen  _ was  _ tired. He leaned back in his chair, the parchment pieces still in his hands.  _ If I go to bed now, would it be because  _ I  _ chose to? Or would it be because she planted the thought in my mind - would it be of my own volition? _

“I need to keep working,” he said finally, a note of defiance running through his voice as he folded the pieces of parchment and tucked them into his surcoat. He would find a better location for them tomorrow. 

A pause. “Alright.”

For the next half hour, Cullen sat in silence, one hand gripping a quill a little too tightly and the other hand drifting in and out of his curls. Wind pulled at the window as he read over reports late into the night. He rubbed at his eyes again; they were dry and itchy from straining to read paperwork by candlelight. As soon as he realized what he was doing, he dropped his hands.

There was a strange silence in the air suddenly, one that made Cullen pause. “Did you… say something?” he asked quietly, feeling foolish. He hadn’t heard the voice in a while; it might not even be present anymore. 

“No. I - I wanted to, though,” the voice reluctantly said. She sounded small and far away. “I just… do you think someone misses me? Out there? Do you think there are people looking for me?”

He paused, completely caught off guard by the question. He didn’t know what to say, so he rolled his quill between his thumb and index finger as he struggled. Cynical words bubbled inside of his mouth and pushed at his tongue, hot and salty.  _ If you’re a demon, no, but if you ever were a person - maybe. _

“I don’t know,” he settled with finally.

“Neither do I,” she said. The voice didn’t sound angry with him. She sounded satisfied with his honest answer, if anything. “I suppose we’ll find out at the end of this.”

“I suppose we will,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving to US readers! <3 Thanks to everyone who has read, kudos'd, bookmarked, subscribed, or commented. Y'all keep me going!


	9. Jenny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen bestows a name upon the Fade-bound Dalish mage.

Life was different now, if her captivity in the Beyond could be called a life.

_ An afterlife,  _ a voice in her mind said, cracking the hard shell of her confidence. For a moment she faltered and her chin wobbled dangerously, cold despair settling in her heart. She shoved it down into her belly, where it set like a stubborn stone, rolling around heavily.

The dark, doubtful thoughts had been making appearances more often as of late. The Dalish mage didn’t quite understand why; she met with Cullen one or two times a week to write down any newly resurfaced memories or knowledge. This should have been sparking hope within and cementing her assurance that she  _ was  _ a flesh and blood person.

Yet it was not. Slowly, despite her previous unwavering confidence that she  _ was  _ a real person, she had began to second guess herself.  _ Why aren’t more memories appearing? Why can’t I remember anything else? Are these memories even real? What if I  _ am  _ a spirit or a demon or... _

Perhaps it was the lack of progress that worried her. They were no closer to her identity - or any possible routes of escape - than they had been when their meetings began four weeks ago.

Sadness and worry gnawed at her as she sat cross-legged by the pool, peering into the water.

Tonight, Cullen and his usual trail of Varric, Cassandra, and Solas were setting up camp somewhere in the Hinterlands as the sun began to set. She watched with interested eyes; as accustomed as she had become to the sprawling lands of southern Ferelden, the landscape was more alluring than her desaturated surroundings in the Beyond.

Dark green leaves growing near the edge of her camp caught her eye. “I think those are potatoes,” she said, pointing, though of course Cullen couldn’t see the gesture.

Cullen, who had been anchoring the waterproof outer sheet of his tent to the ground, glanced back over his shoulder. For a moment she wondered if he was going to ignore her attempt to be helpful, but he finished staking down the tent and then slowly wandered over to the leafy plant.

He crouched, curls glowing like a little halo in the amber light of the half-sunken sun. His hand wrapped around the stalk of the plant and he tugged, sending up a shower of earth and revealing plump golden potatoes. 

“Well-spotted, Herald. You have a good eye,” Solas said as he approached, smiling as he shielded his eyes from the sunset. “Most mistake the leaves of the plant as common bumbleweed.”

She beamed, as if Solas had complimented her directly. “Bumbleweed is beginning to turn orange this time of year,” she supplied, watching Cullen shift hesitantly under Solas’ expectant gaze. 

“Bumbleweed turns orange this time of year,” Cullen said slowly. “I - we we had to forage sometimes, traveling as templars…” He rubbed his neck.

His explanation seemed to satisfy Solas. “I’m glad the skills weren’t lost. This will make a welcome addition to our dinner,” the elf said, rubbing some of the dirt from the potatoes with his fingers. If he was suspicious of Cullen’s sudden knowledge of flora, it did not show in his face.

Her mood was improved by the interaction, but doubt began to settle in again as she watched Cullen help Solas pull up more of the wild potatoes. Soon Varric returned with a few rabbits in his hands, the game expertly shot with Bianca in such a way that would save the most meat.

As Cullen chewed his dinner, she chewed her lip.

Perhaps she would need to begin thinking of a backup plan, in case this research with Cullen continued to prove fruitless. The thought was intimidating. Being physically present in the Beyond was unexplored territory; there was not much history documenting the process. If only this had been more of a common occurrence, maybe she could have directed Cullen to a library or to a scroll or  _ anything _ -

“Hello?”

Her gaze snapped back down to the pool, dark gray eyes focusing on the figure within. Cullen had evidently finished eating and taken first watch; she had been lost in her thoughts for much longer than she had intended. The curly-haired man was now seated on a rock that overlooked their campsite, a quill in his hand and parchment on his knee. A lantern glowed next to him.

“Oh. Sorry. I’m here,” she said, flushing.

Cullen nodded, then hesitated as he removed the lid from an inkwell sitting next to the lantern. “What do I call you?”

She pressed her palms to her heated face, willing the blush to stop. “What do you mean?”

“How am I to address you?” he asked, dipping the tip of the quill into the open inkwell. “If I’m initiating the conversation, I’ll need to ensure  you’re present.”

“Oh,” she said. Her gaze moved past him, to the camp down below, and she watched their flames  flicker and dance, illuminating the area. “I don’t remember my… I, um, suppose you could pick one in the meantime.”

He paused, hovering over the parchment, and a drop of jet black ink dripped onto the page. Cullen brushed it off, leaving a streaky smear of darkness on both the paper and his gloved fingertips. “You don’t want to choose it yourself?”

“No,” she said, squirming as she sat cross-legged by the pool.  _ I’ve tried to remember. Tried to test different names, but they all felt wrong.  _ She felt suddenly ashamed, as if it was her fault that she didn’t know, and wanted to end this talk of names. “I don’t care.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. His armor clinked with the movement. “I don’t know many Dalish names,” he admitted finally.

“Then choose a human one. It doesn’t matter. It’s just for the sake of convenience.”

He paused, running the feather of the quill along his fingertips absently. “‘Jenny’?” he suggested finally.

She laughed. “As in ‘Red Jenny’?” An elf named Sera had recently joined their ranks, bringing with her a connection to the organization known as the Friends of Red Jenny.

Cullen groaned. “I had forgotten. Perhaps not, then.”

“It’s too late now. I kind of like it,” she said, tucking her hair behind her pointed ears. The society was supposed to be a secret and for now, at least, no one knew of the elf trapped in the Beyond, either. No one except for Cullen, of course. Both Jennies would be secrets.

“Very well, then. Jenny,” he said, testing. Even though it was not her true name, it sent a strange warmth into her stomach anyway to hear it said aloud. She was  _ someone  _ now - she was Jenny.

“Very well, Curly,” she replied, smiling as his expression soured slightly.

An exasperated sigh left his lips. “I wish you hadn’t heard that.”

“Well, I did,” she said. “I’ll thank Varric for that someday.”

He didn’t reply, but his back stiffened ever so slightly at the confidence in her voice.  _ Is he afraid that I’m right - that someday I’ll be back in the physical world and able to speak to all of his associates?  _

His body language irritated her slightly. Even now, he was reluctant to trust her, even after she had saved his life and proven to him again and again that she wasn’t a threat. She had assumed the fact that he wanted to give her a name had been a good sign, but maybe he hadn’t progressed as much as she had thought. She pressed on. “Do you think he’d like me?”

“I don’t know,” he said quietly, voice flat and face blank. 

“I think I’ve read one of his books,” the Dalish woman continued. “The one with the elf in it.”

“He would certainly like your literary taste,” Cullen said smoothly. She was oddly impressed by his control. He must have been uncomfortable, thinking about the inevitability of her escape from the Beyond, but he did not lash out at her like he had before. 

She stopped pushing, then, and the two set about their regular business. He transcribed her words as she spoke, recording whatever memories had resurfaced since their last meeting. Cullen frequently paused to look over the land, performing his duties as watchman.

Two hours later, Cassandra began to hike up to his vantage point and Cullen wordlessly rolled up the parchment and tucked it away into his armor somewhere before the Seeker appeared by his side. 

“Were you working on something?” Cass guessed, watching him put the cap back onto the inkwell and clean up his supplies.

“There’s always a report or letter which requires attention,” Cullen said, shrugging as he stood and gestured for the woman to take a seat on his rocky perch.

The Seeker appeared to accept this explanation. She nodded, taking the now-vacant seat. As Cullen was leaving, the Dalish mage could see Cassandra pulling out a dagger and a whetstone to occupy her hands while she sat for the next watch shift.

They were both silent as he walked back to their campsite. Neither one said goodbye or goodnight, but when he settled down into his bedroll for the night she turned away from the pool to give him privacy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY FRIDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!


	10. The Limit of Helpfulness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and the mage have a discussion about the progression of their investigation.

For the first time in days, Cullen was warm and dry. 

He and his traveling companions had been moving up and down the Storm Coast for weeks, eliminating trouble and gathering allies like the Iron Bull and his Chargers. Rooting out bandits in the area would have been a lot easier if they hadn’t simultaneously been battling the weather. 

The area certainly lived up to its name, assaulting them with torrential rain one minute and tent-tearing gales the next. It seemed like every time they managed to change into dry clothes, another storm crashed in from the sea. The ride back to Haven would be a welcome one, even if it meant they would trade the rain of the Storm Coast for the snow of the Frostbacks. At least there would be solid shelter from the precipitation and crackling fireplaces.

The snowy peaks loomed closer as the returning journey progressed. Slowly, the last jagged, glassy onyx rocks of the coast smoothed out into gentle rolling hills and then into a flat lichen-covered tundra. The increased visibility put them at ease; out here, approaching enemies would be spotted easily. Tonight they would camp at the base of the mountain, their tents nestled against gray stones and purple moss, and tomorrow they would begin the cold climb to Haven.

Cullen led the small caravan in a single file line, riding a dapple gray horse. Behind him, he could hear Varric speaking animatedly to Solas and every few minutes he would hear the _ tsk _ of a tongue - Cassandra, no doubt. He smiled slightly, his eyes narrowing in the light of the golden setting sun; the rays sent the itch of a headache blooming at the base of his skull. He pressed on, trying to ignore it. 

The  land  itself was peaceful and reminded him of autumn trips from Honnleath, the  ground  painted with multicolored moss and tiny stubbly shrubs. The little rock formations jutting out near the road cast long, shadowy stripes across the path.

“Cullen!”

His hands jerked on the reins of his horse, the animal abruptly halting in its tracks and letting out an impatient-sounding snort. The voice was Jenny’s. She didn’t sound distressed, exactly, but her voice was urgent nonetheless. 

Cullen glanced over his shoulder to see many irritated looking horses and concerned companions. Varric shielded his eyes with his hand, trying to block out the setting sun so he could assess the situation at the front of the line. “You alright up there, Curly?” he asked, squinting.

“Fine,” Cullen muttered, cheeks red with embarrassment. 

“Okay,” Varric said, looking entirely unconvinced. But within a few seconds the dwarf shrugged, patting the neck of his horse sympathetically. “Well, try to give me a little more of a warning if you’re going to stop. My horse almost got  _ really  _ acquainted with your horse’s rear end.”

Cullen nodded, his fingers twisting around the leather reins. He could see Cassandra guiding her horse closer to him, pulling up next to the Herald. “Is there a problem?” she questioned. 

“No, none,” Cullen said. “A slip of the hand. I apologize.”

Cassandra nodded slowly, her shrewd eyes assessing. 

“We should consider camping here,” Solas called. “We won’t make it much further before nightfall. It would be wiser to sleep here where it is a bit warmer than further along the road, where there will likely be snow or ice.”

Cullen hesitated, then swung his leg over his horse and dismounted. His companions followed suit. “I’d like to look around before we begin setting up for the night.”

“Look around…  _ here _ ?” Varric asked incredulously, hopping off of his own mount. He swept his arms around dramatically. “There’s some rocks. There’s some moss. Moss ‘n’ rocks. That’s about it, Curly. The tundra’s not too exciting. But suit yourself.”

“There could be something useful,” Cullen heard Solas say to the dwarf. There was the slightest graceful thump as the elven mage moved from his horse to the ground. “The Herald has an eye for plants. Perhaps there’s a treasure or two to be found.”

“Whatever treasures he finds, he can keep them for himself. I don’t need any pockets full of moss and pebbles…”

Cullen glanced over his shoulder, seeing his party members begin to move automatically even as he walked away from the group. Cassandra led her horse and Cullen’s off of the road and the group began to unpack their bedrolls and tents from the back of their horses. They were well-practiced.

When he was sufficiently out of earshot from the group, he crouched and pretended to inspect a blanket of yellowy moss. “What is it?” he questioned, trying to not sound as irritated as he felt. “Jenny?”

There was silence for a moment, but Cullen could  _ feel  _ that she was there, hesitating. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to attract attention. I…” she sounded embarrassed. He waited. “I saw some bloodwort.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with his gloved hand. “What is bloodwort?”

“It’s a rare plant. Medicinal. I thought it might come in handy,” she said, speaking quickly as she attempted to justify her outburst. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I was just - um - excited. It’s rare. And valuable. If you don’t use it, you could sell it-”

Cullen held up his hand. She fell silent. “Where?” It would be easier to just harvest the plant here and now, quickly, before anyone noticed he was seemingly talking to himself.

“It’s the red lichen growing on that boulder over there,” she said. He moved, then reached out a hand toward a red bit of flora. “Not the orange-red one, the red-red one. It looks like fresh-”

“Blood,” he finished, eyebrows raising as he set his amber eyes upon the correct plant. Cullen had seen violence many times and participated in it himself just as often; the bright ruby tone of the moss proved that bloodwort was aptly named. The entire plant was not red, but it had splashes of color here and there that looked like sprays of fresh, hot blood against pale green.

Cullen picked the entirety of the bloodwort, tucking it gently into one of the little bags around his waist, and then stood. He habitually scanned the horizon, but there were no signs of life anywhere close. The Herald turned to head back to the half-assembled camp.

“Oooh! Look, that’s-” Jenny began to say, then cut herself off abruptly. “Uh, nevermind.”

“That’s… what?” he asked, stopping in his tracks. Cullen scanned the ground around him. No doubt she had spotted another bit of flora near him. If this excited exclamation had come from a real, true human he would have found it slightly endearing. But here, with so many shadows and doubts stirred up about her true identity, it only cast more questions into his mind.  _ How would a spirit or demon know of so many plants? Perhaps she possessed a scholar and gained their knowledge. Or perhaps- _

“The little plant near your right foot - it has little star-shaped seed pods. See them?” she questioned. He bent at the waist and gently moved aside tiny, hardy leaves to reveal the tiny seed pods. “It’s ghost glove. Good for stain removal. Some say if you chew it, your hair will grow faster, but I don’t think it’s been proven.”

He plucked some of the pods from the plant, putting them in the same bag as the bloodwort. “Anything else?”

“Ah, the white ones…”

Cullen searched and found a delicate-looking white flower with long, velvety petals growing near a mottled boulder. As he crouched and surveyed it closer, he was surprised that it could grow here. Even sheltered by the rock, it must be hardier than it looked.

“What are they?” he questioned, reaching out to gently wrap his fingers around the plant. He could feel little raised bumps along the stem.

“They’re moondaisies.”

“What do they do?”

A pause. “I just think they’re pretty.”

He froze, brow now furrowed. They were pretty, yes. They were just the sort of flower that someone would be happy to receive. Cullen could imagine them poking out of a vase in a warm, cozy home.

_ Is this proof she’s real? Or proof that demons can learn and grow and remember and be very convincing at pretending they’re harmless? _

“Cullen?”

His eyes focused on the moondaisies again, his fingers still wrapped around the stem. “Yes?”

“I think we’ve reached the point where I’ve remembered all I’m going to remember.”

His headache pulsed in his temple.

“What’s the next step?” she pressed.

A long, slow breath escaped from between his lips. He turned so that his back was toward camp, away from the bright sliver of the sinking sun. This conversation was inevitable, perhaps, but he had not expected it so soon.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” she continued. “We could send letters to all the elven clans, asking them if they’re missing anyone, if anyone has disappeared mysteriously.”

“There are many; not all friendly. Even if we were to send letters, most may not bother to respond.” he said after a moment. 

There was a pause. When she spoke again her voice had a little bit of a hard edge to it. “Just the ones near oceans or lakes, then. I remember living near water.”

“Most settlements are near a water source. It’s a necessity,” he pointed out. “Even if you knew which clan you were from, Dalish move often. Tracking them down would be-”

“An easy task for the Spymaster.”

“Not necessarily.”

“You won’t know if you don’t ask.”

“I cannot ask her to waste her time finding every Dalish clan-”   


She let out a short, exasperated exhale. “ _ Well _ . Then the friendly ones that don’t kill humans, since I remember interacting with humans in a town-”

“We would raise suspicion,” he said slowly.

“And? I think suspicion will be raised when I eventually get out of here, anyway. We might as well let people help us in the meantime-”

She prattled on for a bit and her words slowly faded into the pain throbbing at his temple, the ache at the base of his neck, the shakiness of his hands. Cullen focused on breathing.  _ Four seconds in, hold, four seconds out. Four seconds in, hold, four seconds out. _

He could not jeopardize the organization. He could not go to Leliana with strange requests. He did not want the spymaster to investigate him, to prod around, to remove him from the unofficial position of Herald. He was the only one, with his glowing hand, that could offer a solution for their problem.

Maybe after this business with the templars, maybe after the Breach was sealed. But not now. Not when so much was at stake. How could he explain this to her?  _ My problems are more important than your problems.  _ It sounded callous, but it was true. His problems intertwined with thousands of people, if not hundreds of thousands of people. 

“No,” he said finally, interrupting her. His voice came out sharper than intended. His hand withdrew from the moondaisies. 

“What?”

“I will not -  _ can _ not move forward with this. Not now. There are other matters to attend.”

“I understand, I’ve been trying to help you with those. But you still don’t trust me-”

“Trust is earned-”

“I haven’t earned it yet?” she asked incredulously. The hard edge to her voice was back, bitter humor weaving through her tone, too. “Not by trying to discourage your lyrium use, which would hurt you - not by warning you about the wine at the Ghislain estate? I’ve never done anything to you-”

His gloved hand clenched. “Never done...? You’re in my  _ mind _ -”

“Do you think I want to be here, Cullen? Do you think I wouldn’t rather be out there with whatever family I must have?” she snapped. Her voice sounded strained, like someone who was holding back tears. Tears of anger or sadness, perhaps both; he wasn’t sure. “Do you think I like wasting away in this place, with only  _ you  _ to help me? When it’s clear that you’re never going to take the next step?”

“I-”

“You’re not even helping me, are you?” she continued. “You’re placating me! You’re - you’re pretending to help, you’re doing the bare minimum.”

“I cannot make this a priority.”

“Yes, well,” the tears were gone from her voice now; there was only bitter disappointment. “Focus on those from now on. It’s clear I’ve reached the limit of your helpfulness.”

The wind picked up, catching his curls, and the only sound as he walked back to camp was the crunch of icy moss beneath his boots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cullen do you need some snow for that BURN?!


	11. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jenny experiences true solitude and formulates a plan to leave the Beyond.

Being  _ truly  _ on her own was both terrifying and exhilarating. The Dalish mage could no longer rely on Cullen and this newfound independence meant that she could try whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. 

The first thing she did was test the boundaries of her corner of the Beyond. Once she tried scaling the cliff that bordered one edge of her temporary home, but all that had resulted in was scraped knees and a sweaty brow. When it became apparent that she could not leave her little safe haven, she turned to magic.

Fire was the easiest for her to manipulate, but a knot in her stomach told her that she needed to try something else.  _ But what?  _ She paced in the grove, near the little pool that let her see into the real world, trying to force herself to remember anything she knew about the Beyond and those who had once physically walked there.

Whispers came to her ears, small snippets of things that  _ someone  _ had once said to her. Bits and pieces were strung together, nonsensical words that meant nothing and were not helpful. She crouched near the pool, pressing her eyes closed, willing herself to remember.

“The templars will be able to weaken the veil.”

Her eyes opened, her gaze snapping to the pool. Cullen was standing around the war table, pointing a gloved finger to a location on the map spread out before him. His jaw was clenched, a single bead of sweat sliding down the back of his neck.

She bit back the words on her tongue:  _ Do you have a headache again? Is it bad? Don’t take the lyrium, you can do this. _

“We will open the Breach and seal it, then,” a female voice said. Although she could not see Cassandra in the little pool, she recognized her distinct accent instantly. “It is unlikely we could form an alliance with the mages after working with the templars. Our choice will be absolute.”

The skin on the back of her neck prickled. The veil was the only thing separating her from the physical world; if Cullen and the templars were able to weaken it from their side, could she breach it? 

Her heartbeat quickened.  _ This is it.  _ She could feel it in her bones, in her gut, in the adrenaline coursing through her blood. There would never be a better opportunity to escape from this place. She would have to plan and practice and hope that by the time the templars arrived at Haven to assist with the Breach, she would know enough to force her way out of the Beyond.

* * *

She doubled down on practicing her spells and slowly, everything she knew about magic and magical theory began to trickle back into her mind. Her days were spent conjuring and shifting and creating, pulling fire from the air and attempting to create small tears in the shimmering air before her. 

The training halted momentarily when Cullen and his companions headed toward the temporary home of the templars, a formerly abandoned fortress known as Therinfal Redoubt. She watched warily, once again biting back words of encouragement or advice. 

Cullen was no fool. From the way his hands gripped the reins of his horse too tightly, she could see that he was rightfully apprehensive about the meeting. His eyes kept flickering around, shrewd and assessing, watchful for any danger.

She forced herself to move away from the pool. He could handle himself.  _ If he won’t help me, I won’t help him.  _ Instead her attention was focused on her hands; her skills had improved greatly in the few weeks that had passed. 

Now she could manipulate the Beyond ever so slightly. If she concentrated hard enough, she could summon a green light not unlike the one that emanated from her palm. It seemed to burn away the air, leaving a tiny singed hole in what she assumed was the veil keeping her from the physical world. 

The magic to do this was difficult to perform. She had to have a clear head, free of distractions, and focus all of her energy into ripping a barely-there hole no bigger than the tip of her finger. The effort of doing so left her sweaty and out of breath.

To calm her thoughts and clear herself of any distractions, she began to hum as she centered herself, feeling the pull of magic, losing herself as she connected with the Fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update this weekend, since this chapter and the next are so short! I hope you enjoy. Hehe. >:D


	12. Burning Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen deals with the aftermath of Therinfal Redoubt.

_ Kinloch. Kirkwall. And now yet another: Therinfal. _

_ Each was its own special nightmare, with its own challenges and scars. But Therinfal, the most recent, is what claws itself into my dreams every night. As soon as I shut my eyes, I return to that fortress. I return to Envy’s labyrinth, at the mercy of a demon yet again. Even in sleep, it seems I can gain no respite. _

_ The images are horrifying. A sadistic mix of Kinloch, Kirkwall, and my potential failure with the Inquisition. I see bodies of those I’ve known to be dead since long ago, lying next to those who still live. Those who will continue to live, if I do not slip. _

_ I sought Cassandra’s advice, after the ordeal. If a demon pulled me into my own mind and made me relive such things, sought to  _ become  _ me, would lyrium prevent it from happening again? She answered quickly: no. I know she is correct. _

_ Josephine pulled me aside today; there have been comments that I’ve been more abrasive than usual. Perhaps that is true. I’ve tried to avoid interacting with people until this has passed, until my dreams are my own again and my eyes stop darting to the shadowy corners of every room. _

_ At least solace can be taken in the fact that I’ve not heard from Jenny. It would seem the defeat of Envy also rid me of her presence. It is highly unlikely that the two are not correlated. Though there are discussions I recall which pose questions, I shall endeavor to endure. As I always have, as I always will.  _

Cullen gazed down at his own handwriting. The ink, still wet, shone in the candlelight. The penmanship was shaky at first, growing steadier as he progressed down the parchment. At the close of his words he had instinctively left a space, usually where he wrote his signature, but he would not need to do so this time. 

He carefully folded the parchment in half, ritually smoothing the crease line with his fingertip until it was sufficiently flat. Outside of his little office, he could hear the Chantry abuzz with conversation and celebration.

The last of the templars had arrived at Haven yesterday, filling it to capacity. Last night, they had approached the Breach again and sealed the scar in the sky, hopefully once and for all. It had taken a weight off of Cullen’s shoulders, but there were many more responsibilities waiting to take its place.

Slowly, he pulled his gloves on, blew out the candle on his desk, and left his office with his folded parchment clutched in his hand.

A few people looked at him curiously as he made his way to the big doors of the Chantry, but no one initiated a conversation. Perhaps word of his snippiness had spread or maybe he looked so focused on his task that his expression dissuaded them.

Cullen pushed the doors of the Chantry open, stepping out into Haven. It was a calm night, with very little wind. The sky was clear and he could see a few bright stars beginning to twinkle as twilight approached.

As he walked to the large fire that burned near Varric’s tent, he took a breath, so deep his lungs stung from the cold. When he drew closer he could see the dwarf was standing by the flames, talking animatedly with a black-haired elven woman. In her hand she clutched a copy of Varric’s newest book, no doubt recently-signed.

Cullen gave them a nod of acknowledgement before moving to the other side of the fire. He opened his letter, read over it once more, and then held it out to the flames. Soon enough, a corner of the parchment caught fire, burning slowly in his hand. When the flames were nearly licking his gloved hand he released it and watched it disintegrate into nothingness in the firewood. The heat of the fire washed over him, followed by a wave of relief.

“Did you make a spelling mistake?” Varric was suddenly there next to him, his twinkling gaze settling knowingly on Cullen. “I usually just cross it out and move to the next word, but I guess burning the entire page works, too.”

Cullen smiled slightly, shrugging, then his eyes moved to where the elven woman had been standing. “Did I interrupt?” he questioned.

“No, don’t worry about it. She said she had to go,” Varric said, waving a nonchalant hand. He paused after a moment, then let out a low whistle. “But you should’ve seen the look she gave you when she left, Curly. What’d you do to her? Is she one of the people you yelled at yesterday?”

He blinked. “No,” he said slowly, trying to remember her face. He hadn’t looked at her very long, but she didn’t look familiar. Perhaps she was a mage or one of Leliana’s people; they tended to keep their distance unless it was necessary. “What is her name?”

“I’m going to call her Inky, I think, ‘cause she seems a little bookish. Plus, you know, the hair,” Varric flipped an imaginary lock of long hair over his shoulder, then shrugged. “But she said her name was Jenny.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all like cliffhangers. ;) But seriously, thanks for reading! More soon, hopefully. <3


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